Uncle-y…Duties?
Peace and quiet. Mycroft leaned back in his armchair, cup of tea in hand, and closed his eyes, breathing in the steam. He hadn't been this relaxed in…weeks? Months? Years, probably. Of course it couldn't last long.
His phone chirped noisily beside him and Mycroft resisted the urge to bring his tea down on top of it. His eyes snapped open and he let a small puff of air through his nose. How had this country ever gotten on without him?
"Hello?"
"Mycroft?"
Mycroft bit his tongue on the phrase, "Who else could it be?" deciding that he didn't want to prolong the conversation with his little brother's flat-mate.
"Is someone bleeding?" he asked instead.
"…no," John said, the confusion evident even over the phone.
"Has someone been poisoned?"
"No."
"Is someone dead?"
"No!"
"Injured in any way shape or form?"
"No!" John said, but before the doctor could continue, Mycroft cut him off.
"Then I'm not interested."
John sighed on the other end, the kind of long-suffering sigh that Mycroft had come to associate with anyone who dealt with Sherlock on a regular basis.
"I need you to watch Alice."
That was the kicker. Mycroft groaned audibly, oblivious to John's annoyed hiss.
"And Sherlock can't ask me himself because…?"
"He'd shoot himself first," John said. "And, he's in Belarus."
Belarus. Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course Sherlock would jet off to a case without thinking about the nine-year-old in his care. Child Services were really losing their touch. What kind of background checks did they run, anyway? No one in their right mind would let a child within ten yards of his little brother.
"She lives in your flat, John."
"I go to work before she gets to school, and I think you know what I mean when I say I don't trust her to catch a cab by herself. I'd find her in Scotland."
When that got no response, John tried again.
"Just because she lives in my flat, does not make her my responsibility."
The unspoken 'yes it does' made John groan loudly.
"She's not my niece."
"Clearly. How long."
He sensed that John would simply drop Alice off if he didn't agree anyway.
"A week."
And, before Mycroft could say that he didn't have the time or the patience to watch a child for that long, the other line of the phone went dead.
~o0o~
Mycroft waited in the foyer for his niece's arrival, already counting down the minutes before he could return to his infinitely more interesting duties.
Five minutes late, the doorbell rang. He answered it, not caring that his face was sour.
"You sure you'll be all right?" John asked.
Alice nodded. A small brown duffel bag with a singed handle held all her things. Mycroft spotted a bright pink toothbrush sticking out of one of the unzipped pockets and desperately tried to remember how one was supposed to care for children. All that information had been deleted once Sherlock had reached the age at which he could care for himself.
"Right. Call me if you need anything, but I work from seven thirty to five thirty."
"We'll be fine, won't we, Mycroft?" asked Alice, bounding over and giving him a tight hug.
He stiffened, and didn't relax again until the little girl had released him. John smirked.
"Goodbye, then."
Mycroft shut the door behind him and turned to Alice.
"Whatever your father's offered you to annoy me, I'll give you double."
Alice grinned from ear to ear.
"Done."
The two stared at each other for a few moments. Alice had to tip her head back to meet his eyes properly.
"Don't you have homework?"
Alice unzipped the duffel bag and produced a piece of paper and a short pencil.
"I have to interview a family member about their job," she said.
Mycroft closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Alice was in the living room, feet on the couch. He sighed. Cleanliness had never been one of Sherlock's predominant traits, and it was clear that Alice had inherited it.
"Name?" she asked.
"You know my name."
Alice said nothing, but jabbed her finger at the empty lines she had to write her response one. Mycroft counted to ten before answering.
"Mycroft Holmes."
"Occupation?"
He wondered, briefly, what the policy was for giving out information o overly curious nieces. He'd never bothered to look up the protocol.
"Government official."
Alice paused a little on the spelling of government, but she pressed on.
"Education?"
"Cambridge."
"How did you get the job?"
"Connections."
How else did anyone do what he did?
Alice looked down at her paper and frowned.
"I have to write three lines!"
"Write largely, then," Mycroft snapped.
When he looked down, CONNECTIONS was written in capital letters diagonally across the lines provided with four exclamation points.
"What do you do?"
"Classified."
Alice sighed at the sight of the even larger space and proceeded to write in block letters.
The rest of the week went similarly. Mycroft wasn't sure how Sherlock stood it. He would have rather had Alice than any other child her age, but she was still someone who needed constant care to make sure the house didn't burn down. Thankfully, the smoke detector only went of twice. By the end of it, Mycroft was run ragged. How could running the country be more difficult than looking after his niece?
When John arrived, he all but tossed Alice at him. The little girl wrapped her arms around John's neck and couldn't conceal her beam.
"Miss me?" he asked. "Sherlock's coming home tonight, so he should be able to get you off to school tomorrow. Was everything all right?"
Mycroft's left eye twitched, though thanks to his decidedly ordinary observational skills, John didn't notice.
"Fine, fine."
He might not have been good at deduction, but John knew people. His mouth quirked as he fought back laughter. Mycroft shot him a look over the top of Alice's head while mouthing,
"Never again."
The smirk never left John's face.